Two Photographs
by Whitefeather
Summary: Harrry gives his friends a chance to back out before the final battle, and they take the time to go home and reflect on what is truely in their hearts. Series of three oneshots, each focusing on one of the trio the night before the end.
1. Hermione

Two Photographs

Whitefeather

Beta'd by the wonderfulBrooklynKate

* * *

_All six of the horcruxes were gone, destroyed by the three of us over the course of the year. From August 'til June, living in the shadows and having no contact with the world... just with one another, and now it was almost over, just one target left in Voldemort himself..._

"_So when do we do it?" Ron asked softly, taking a bite from his biscuit. The firelight illuminated his face, lined with scars and wrinkles from countless death scares. _

_Harry shook his head, hidden beneath a long hood. He had done many things in the last year; many things that would have sentenced him to Azkaban had it been anything but wartime—only now would the Ministry talk of giving him awards for acts that we all called heinous and terrible under our breaths as we completed them. He couldn't bear to have people look upon him and see these things and think great of him, so he hid from the world._

"_Two days. That's when Snape said Voldemort was going to be launching his attack on Hogwarts; we can't risk anything before that, he's going to have thousands of Death Eaters gathering around him to prepare."_

"_So we have two days to prepare?" I stood up and took our bottle of water. "What do we need to do? Plan our attack, or maybe work some more on battle tactics..."_

_Harry shook his head slightly. "We're not going to get any better in two days. What the two of you need is to think of what you're fighting for—to remember and reflect, and prepare mentally."_

_Ron stared at Harry with his mouth open. I shot him a 'shut-your-mouth-now' look and poured a glass of water. "So we're going to stay here and share memories?"_

_He shook his head again. "I want you to go home tomorrow morning and spend a day with your families."_

_My mouth dropped. We hadn't seen our families since July, and every time one of us would bring them up, Harry would lecture us on how dangerous it would be for us to go back. _

_As though he read my mind, Harry continued on. "Voldemort isn't going to care with the attack against Hogwarts only a day away; he can't risk alerting the Order by going to your homes and placing an attack there. Besides, I doubt he'll take notice with the plans that he's going over. It's perfectly safe."_

"_Where are you gonna go?" Ron stood up and moved next to me, handing me his glass. "You wanna come with me to the Burrow?"_

_He shook his head again. "I can't risk it. Besides... I want to go back to the graveyard and to Godric's Hollow. Maybe some of my old luck willith come back."_

"_You sure?" I muttered. _

"_Yeah. The thing is..." he stopped for a moment, staring deep into the fire. "If you go home and realize that there is something else out there worth not dying for, I want you to stay and not have to leave me directly. If you find something at home that makes life worth it, then stay. I'll understand; I'd do the same if I had a family to live for."

* * *

_

"Any more pudding?" Mum asked, looking hopeful. I took another spoonful, fully planning on feeding it to the dog as soon as she walked out of the room.

"Thanks."

She threw me a huge smile and almost skipped out of the room. I sighed gently and slipped the plate under the table, pulling it up just as dad walked into the room. He grinned in understanding and took my arm. "I just got the old photos organized. Want to have a look?"

Before I could nod yes or no, he had me dragged into the living room and had me on the couch with the photo album open in front of us. Mum came in and sat on my other side. "When does the album start, Dan?"

"When Hermione was born." He stated proudly. I shared a look with mum; only dad could take seventeen years to organize photographs.

He shrieked like a young child as he flipped the pages, reminiscing on the times long gone when I had made milestones that now seemed as important as single seconds in my life. How was I supposed to think about a bone broken at four when in my second year I had been comatose for months? How could I even take pride in a won spelling bee when in my fifth year I had outfought five of the world's best fighters in a life-or-death confrontation? How was I supposed to remember a crush I'd had at nine that had moved away; when in the last year, I'd nearly lost the love of my life seventeen times, and believed him dead three of those?

How was I supposed to care that I lived eleven years in a sheltered life, when I had lived seven in hell?

"I think I'm going to go to bed," I whispered, interrupting one of dad's stories. He gave me a look of mock hurt before he realized that it meant he would have to say goodbye to me right then and there—most probably forever. His look turned terrified as he looked to my mum.

"But... but there's so much more we need to do! So many more memories to look back on, so many more things to talk about and to learn... did you know that when I was six, I-"

Mum put an arm on dad's shoulder, biting her lips to keep from crying. Immediately I felt tears well up in my own eyes,. I was killing my parents.

"I think Hermione needs her sleep Dan, and so do we. Tomorrow's going to be a long day for all of us."

The look on her face made me want nothing more than to die right there and then. It was a mixture of terror and hatred and fear; all thrown together as she tried so desperately to push them back and let off and air of normality; like she was sending me to bed and tomorrow she would wake me up and I would yell at her to give me five more minutes and we would argue and be mad all day until dad stepped in at dinner that night and we would all laugh...

"Don't go tomorrow," Dad blurted out finally. "If you go tomorrow, you'll die, and you're not ready for that. I'm not ready for that. Don't leave us. Oh God, don't leave us Hermione..."

Mum looked lost as dad broke down into sobs, grabbing the coffee table for support. "I forbid it! You can't go! You won't go! I won't let you!"

I stood there not sure how to act as Dad sobbed on the floor.

"I'm leaving in seven hours... it will probably be easiest if I don't wake you up..."

Mum nodded, still biting her lip.

A small trickle of blood was running down her chin.

I'd never felt as much pain in my life as in that moment. I'd been tortured by thirteen different Death Eaters in the last year alone, I'd believed both of my companions dead at least ten times at one point or another, I'd seen people I loved die in front of me... but these things were nothing to what I felt. I knew, without a doubt, that if I went they would die inside tomorrow. If by any chance I did make it through to the end, they'd never be the same again. Never.

I couldn't be the one to do that.

"I'm not going tomorrow," I blurted. Both of them shot me looks of disbelief, mixed in with looks of absolute hope.

"Harry told us that if we find something here worth staying for, then we should stay. There is something here in you. I could never leave that; just now I see you both dying at the thought of me going out there. If anything happened... I'd never forgive myself..."

I turned and went to the stairs, walking up to my room in silence.

Not much had changed over the past year—my bed was still in the same place, my posters still hung on the wall, my clothes still hung in the closet.

"You're the only thing that hasn't changed," I muttered, walking around and thinking. I turned on my stereo and grabbed my own photo album from atop my bureau. Outside it started to rain. I laughed dryly. "Thank Merlin we're not still out in the campsite."

Jumping onto the bed, I opened the album to the first page; e. Ourour first year at Hogwarts.

The first pages were photographs of me and me alone; taken with magic so that I didn't have to bother anyone to take them. Photographs of classrooms and pictures on the walls and other objects that meant absolutely nothing anymore; but on that first day at Hogwarts had meant everything.

Seven years ago.

Seven years ago I'd had nothing.

Seven years ago I'd seen hope in a new school and a new start where maybe I'd find a friend who I could have over and share secrets with.

It's funny.

The first time I'd met Ron and Harry, I'd insulted them. They couldn't stand me for two months. Life was exactly as it was at home; I almost had my parents convinced to let me come home and go to the muggle school.

Then Halloween came.

I will never in a million lifetimes forget the look that the three of us shared over the troll that night—a look of absolute trust and faith; of the most absolute friendship.

Suddenly, the pages in the photo album weren't filled with one person. There were three; three people so young and innocent, smiling and laughing and worrying about nothing more than the exams and professors and when we would eat...

I stopped and stared at one picture, taken just before Christmas.

I took it out of the album and put it to the side.

The photos continued on as time continued on—gradually getting darker and darker, fewer and fewer. With each passing year came another drop in our smiles, another bit lip, another faraway glance.

The pictures ended abruptly at the end of our sixth year with a photograph that I had cut out of the Daily Prophet from Dumbledore's funeral. It was the three of us staring to the side, where the body had been laid to rest—each of us holding tightly onto the other. Our arms were intertwined to the point where you couldn't tell whose was whose, our faces were close and torn, ourand our hands grasped one another as though we were supporting ourselves in a life-and-death situation...

The title of the photograph in the paper had been 'Hope'.

I'd tried to laugh when I'd first seen it. Tried to think of how much that must have bothered the Dark Lord; of how people would believe in us.

I reached down into the small bag I'd brought with me and took out the one photograph that existed of the three of us since we left.

It had been taken by accident; a small Polaroid camera that a young muggle child had snapped our picture right after we'd destroyed the final horcrux in the woods, near his campsite. He'd demanded two pounds for it and Harry had handed it over immediately, afraid to leave any evidence behind.

I'd taken the photo but been too drained to even look at it. To be honest I'd forgotten about it until three nights later when I'd been sitting by the fire alone in the middle of the night. By the firelight I took out the crinkled picture and looked at it.

The three of us were in a row, Harry in the middle; not for any theatrics, but because he literally couldn't walk. The spells he'd used had nearly killed him again, and he needed to use us as crutches. His hood had been caught by the wind at a perfect time—at a time where I could see his cold gray right eye staring downwards, completely lost. Ron was bruised and looked about to collapse, and I had a huge gash down my face. All three of us were completely intertwined as in the photograph at the funeral—but this time, it wasn't for emotional support. We were already dead inside.

Outside, the rain began to fall harder. I giggled a bit, remembering when we had first been caught in a storm on our journey, and how Ron hadn't known how to react, and how Harry had stared at him as he ran around grabbing things. I'd started singing an old song about rain, trying to make the situation lighter...

The last time Harry had laughed was that night.

It's been five months since then.

Mindlessly, I began to sing the same song, staring out the window.

_Listen to each drop of rain_

_Whispering secrets in vain_

_Frantically searching for someone to hear  
Their story before they hit ground  
Please don't let go  
Can't we stay for a while?  
It's just too hard to say goodbye_

What would happen tomorrow?

If Voldemort won, we would all be dead within a matter of weeks. There would be no one to stand in his way—the world looked to Harry as their hero, and if he were to fail, they would have no hope at all. Over time he would take over and rule, leaving us muggles for dead. Though I'm sure I'd be one of the first.

If Harry won...

If Harry won there would be no storybook ending.

It would be worse than death for him.

He thought we didn't know about his death wish. About how he wanted nothing more then to die on the battlefield.

But he also knew that if he died, all was lost. As much as he wanted to join those he loved, he knew that he could and would never let down the world.

If Harry won, he would go into hiding. He would waste away until the Gods had mercy on him and brought him home.

He would never be happy again. Not until he was home.

_I stand alone in the storm  
Suddenly sweet words take hold  
Hurry they say for you haven't much time  
Open your eyes to the love around you_

I moved the last photograph next to the first and stared at them. The first was a magical photograph, and we were all grinning and goofing off,... Harry was laughing at some joke that Ron had made in that time, so long ago, that they were trapped in.

Lucky them.

There was no trace of life on our faces in the last photograph. We were already dead, I realized. Dead to the world and to ourselves; our bodies only living for the sole purpose of ending the world's suffering.

_You may feel you're alone  
But I'm here still with you  
You can do what you dream  
Just remember to listen to the rain_

I realized suddenly, with almost no emotion at all, that I hadn't cried in months.

I hadn't cried when Harry and I thought Ron was dead after the fifth horcrux. I hadn't cried when we found out, through a month-and-a-half old paper, that Ginny had been killed. I hadn't cried when we had been cornered by fifty-odd Death Eaters and Voldemort himself, and believed myself dead.

And before I could breathe, before I could react—I was crying at the thought of leaving the ones I loved.

The two photographs lay crumpled in my hands, now strewn with tears.

A creak from the doorway made me look up suddenly. Dad stood there, looking like he'd been crying. "Brought you some warm milk to help you sleep... I'll just leave it here... goodnight..."

He turned to leave.

I leapt out of the bed and threw my arms around him, letting the two pictures fall to the floor.

We embraced for what seemed like an hour before he pulled himself back and looked into my eyes.

"You need to go, Hermione."

Inside, I knew he was telling the truth. Knew he was dying inside as I had the past year in saying this, in letting his daughter walk willingly to his death; knew he had probably sat in his own bed sobbing for an hour to get the strength to come up here and tell me this.

He'd been brave enough to do what he needed to do.

I nodded slightly and pulled back completely, grabbing my pack from the floor. Next to it lay the two photographs of two completely different times, two completely different worlds; two sets of two completely different people.

I picked them up gingerly, lost in thought for a moment before nodding.

I handed my dad the photograph of us from our first year and enclosed his hand around it.

"I love you, Daddy," I whispered. "Never forget us, no matter what. Never forget us and the way we were. I love you."

He nodded silently as I passed him and walked down to the fireplace, stopping only by my mom's room for a moment to kiss her head as she was lost in sleep. I dropped a pinch of floo powder into the fire, and without looking back, I cried out the name of the place I knew Harry would be.

Moments before the magic took me away, I dropped the photograph enclosed in my own hand into the fire below me.

_Remember us as we were.

* * *

_

_End Part 1/4_

Quick Note- Due to the demands and my need towrite whileParallel Dreams is being intensely beta read and changed by the wonderful WeirdbutnotBoring from Perfect Imagination, I've changed this from a one-shot to a four-shot, if you can call it that.Here's what to expect.

Chapter 1- Hermione

Chapter 2- Ron

Chapter 3- Harry

Chapter 4- The Battle


	2. Ron

Two Photographs

Part II- Ron

_

* * *

_

_All six of the horcruxes were gone, destroyed by the three of us over the course of the year. From August 'til June, living in the shadows and having no contact with the world... just with one another, and now it was almost over, just one target left in Voldemort himself..._

"_So when do we do it?" I asked softly, taking a bite from my biscuit. The firelight illuminated my hand, lined with scars and wrinkles from countless death scares. _

_Harry shook his head, hidden beneath a long hood. He had done many things in the last year; many things that would have sentenced him to Azkaban had it been anything but wartime—only now would the Ministry talk of giving him awards for acts that we all called heinous and terrible under our breaths as we completed them. He couldn't bear to have people look upon him and see these things and think great of him, so he hid from the world._

"_Two days. That's when Snape said Voldemort was going to be launching his attack on Hogwarts; we can't risk anything before that, he's going to have thousands of Death Eaters gathering around him to prepare."_

"_So we have two days to prepare?" Hermione stood up and took our bottle of water. "What do we need to do? Plan our attack, or maybe work some more on battle tactics..."_

_Harry shook his head slightly. "We're not going to get any better in two days. What the two of you need is to think of what you're fighting for—to remember and reflect, and prepare mentally."_

_I stared at Harry with my mouth open. Hermione shot me a 'shut-your-mouth-now' look and poured a glass of water. "So we're going to stay here and share memories?"_

_He shook his head again. "I want you to go home tomorrow morning and spend a day with your families."_

_My mouth dropped. We hadn't seen our families since July, and every time one of us would bring them up, Harry would lecture us on how dangerous it would be for us to go back. _

_As though he read my mind, Harry continued on. "Voldemort isn't going to care with the attack against Hogwarts only a day away; he can't risk alerting the Order by going to your homes and placing an attack there. Besides, I doubt he'll take notice with the plans that he's going over. It's perfectly safe."_

"_Where are you gonna go?" I stood up and moved next to Hermione, taking the cup from her hands. "You wanna come with me to the Burrow?"_

_He shook his head again. "I can't risk it. Besides... I want to go back to the graveyard and to Godric's Hollow. Maybe some of my old luck with come back."_

"_You sure?" Hermione muttered. _

"_Yeah. The thing is..." he stopped for a moment, staring deep into the fire. "If you go home and realize that there is something else out there worth not dying for, I want you to stay and not have to leave me directly. If you find something at home that makes life worth it, then stay. I'll understand; I'd do the same if I had a family to live for."

* * *

_

Mum had screamed at me when I'd first appeared in the doorway. Swore at me and hit me before falling onto me, latching on and swearing she'd never let me go.

Had it been even a year ago, I'd have rolled my eyes and said I didn't understand women. Been awkward and all that. But now... when she hugged me, all I could see was that paper we found in a gutter. The one with a tiny picture of Ginny in the corner, telling us she had died over a month before. Nothing more. She'd been forgotten.

Then Mum told me that Charlie, Percy and George were dead as well.

I couldn't do anything but just stand there. What else was I supposed to do? Cry? I couldn't. I'm the joker, the kid who never gets anything right and makes every situation better.

"Any more food, dear?"

I looked up and mum and nodded. We hadn't had a real meal in so long that I didn't feel bad about eating four helpings. Besides, mum loved to cook.

Dad smiled blandly over the table before turning back to Bill, speaking in hushed tones. At his side Fleur was trying to put the small baby to sleep. Fred watched her silently.

"Here," Mum muttered, scooping more food onto my plate. She put it down and smiled at me. "So how long are you here for?"

Dad and Bill's conversation stopped instantly. Even Fleur stopped rocking the now-sleeping baby and watched him intensely. I felt my face grow red. "Tomorrow morning."

"_Tomorrow?" _Mum cried out, almost dropping the pot of food. "You've only come back for _a night_?"

She looked ready to burst into tears. I bit my lip and stood up. "Sorry, Mum. Harry wants us ready tomorrow. Hopefully this will all be over soon and then we can all come back here again..."

"You're not going to beat them," she interrupted shortly. Dad looked ready to protest, but Mum raised her hand and waved him off. "You're going to die out there, you know that? All three of you are going to be killed alone and cold out there, just like your brothers and sister. You're not going to make a difference."

The image of Ginny's picture in the old newspaper shot to the top of my mind. She was already forgotten by the world, wasn't she? Maybe in years, if by some miracle we won, she would be remembered by one or two people as Harry Potter's ex-girlfriend. She would fade with those that had a faint memory and would become a name on a wall with thousands and thousands and thousands of others.

If we lost, we would all be forgotten. Ashes in a world ruled by You-Know-Who. All of us, regardless of what we tried to do.

"If he wins, then it won't matter if we go or not. At least if we go then we'll have a chance at going back to normal."

"_Normal?"_ The pot the food was in fell and shattered as she threw her arms out and grabbed my shoulders. "How is everything going to go back to _normal_? Four of my children are _dead_. Things will never go back to _normal_."

Sometime during all that, Dad had stood up. He pried Mum off me and held her close to him as she sobbed.

It's funny how, sometimes, you can handle death and suffering and pain without being torn; but seeing emotion from someone you love is the worst.

It was Fred who took my arm and let me out of the room, telling Bill quietly on the way out that we were going upstairs.

We didn't talk much at first. I just sat on my old bed and stared at nothing. Everything was exactly as I'd left it, down to the robe that I had left strewn on the floor the day we left.

Fred's eyes were glazed over; he reminded me of Harry. Neither of them had many traces of humanity left.

"Why do people have hope?" he asked quietly. His gaze hadn't moved from the window. "Do people actually believe that we can win this?"

I remembered back to the campfire. Harry had seemed so adamant on us finding our own reasons to fight by coming home... all this made me want to do was stay here as not to kill my Mum. I swore at him silently. "I don't think that anyone believes we can win, no. But we have to try."

Fred nodded. "We tried two months ago. The Order, I mean. Didn't get past the first set of guards. They brought those of us that were alive inside and toyed with us. Tortured us. After they'd had their fun they took those that had begged for death and made us watch as they killed those that had been defiant. Laughed at us and let us go." He paused and looked at me. It was funny how I found relief in the fact that there were tears in his eyes; Harry wouldn't have cried. None of us would anymore. That made us different from this world, setting the difference that I could lean on when things became too heavy. "They put me under the imperious. I killed George."

I wasn't surprised about how little emotion I felt. "It wasn't your fault."

"I know. I know. I've been told that and I know it. It's more than that. It's the image that keeps coming back; when the curse lifted and I looked down to see a bloody knife in my hand and my twin dead in front of me. That's what I will always remember, not the blame and where it lays."

There was nothing to say. I walked over to my desk and opened the drawers, pulling out old notebooks and texts. "It seems like we wasted a lot of time, doesn't it," I asked Fred, who watched me with tears running down his face. "We spent so many years studying useless things. If I could go back, I'd have learned the things that would help us survive, and not how to turn a match into a needle."

Fred smiled through his tears. "If I could go back, I wouldn't change a thing. Maybe I'd have changed the ending, but I never would give up what I had for those years. Never."

"You wouldn't stop yourself from being caught?" I asked, trying not to laugh. "You wouldn't have pulled one more prank or gotten out of detention?"

"No. I'd do it all again exactly the way I did. We had it all."

_We had it all._ I couldn't help but laugh out loud this time, remembering all the good times we had had at Hogwarts.

Fred stood up and walked over, going through the old books with me. "Merlin, they taught us useless drabble. 'Chapter Seventeen- Shining Charms'. Wonderful, you can make Lucius Malfoy's hair look even more wonderful as he tries to kill you."

The baby started to scream downstairs. Fred shrugged. "You'd think for something so small, it would be a bit quieter. Merlin knows how Mum handled all of us at the same time."

I looked to the corner. The small clock that some Uncle or Aunt had given me one Christmas read eleven. Five hours until we had to meet back with Harry.

"You're going to go, right?" Fred asked, still looking through the charms book. "You'll regret it for the rest of your life if you don't."

"Yeah." I looked at a Cannons poster, probably too intently for Fred to buy it, but he didn't say anything. "Not like it will make any difference, but I'll go."

He walked to the door, but hesitated before leaving. "It may not make a difference in the scheme of things, no. But it makes a world of difference to something much smaller and much more important."

Fred left the room, leaving me alone and staring at the poster. How was it that I'd been completely obsessed with a team that lost like the Cannons? Why couldn't I have picked a winning team and been able to celebrate in the end, instead of just left waiting and praying for something that wouldn't come?

I swore and ripped the poster down on an impulse. There was no more quidditch anymore, anyhow. The league had disbanded four months ago, and it was unlikely that Voldemort would open it back up when he controlled the world.

It was all the same in the room. Things that had no importance anymore... mostly Cannons memorabilia and school things. Gryffindor colors. Not that bravery was held in the high regard it once was. All it did was get you killed faster.

There was nothing left in the room. It was easy to leave behind.

Mum was cleaning the dishes silently, tears running down her face while Bill and Fleur sat next to one another holding the baby and speaking gently to one another. Dad and Fred were nowhere to be seen.

"So what's the bugger's name?" I asked gently, sitting down across from my brother and sister-in-law. Fleur looked up at me and smiled.

"Ginevra Gabrielle. We named 'er after the two women who meant ze most to us."

I felt stupid looking at the baby. Last time I'd seen either of the parents was at the wedding—the day we'd left, which was ten months prior. Until Fleur had come downstairs a few hours back I had no idea I'd even had a niece.

"Er... hello, Ginny," I said, feeling stupid. Apparently the baby thought so too, because she looked at me all funny. I really wasn't sure how to deal with children. "How are you?"

Fleur laughed and pulled the baby back to her. "'old out your arms, like zes."

I mimicked her, and she put Ginny into my arms. "What if she doesn't like me?"

"She won't unless you loosen up a bit," Bill said from behind me. "Relax. She wants to be comfortable."

I remember Seamus talking about his nephew's birth, and how he said your world changed when you held the baby the first time. I didn't feel anything but awkward. Apparently the baby agreed, because she began to squirm and look pleadingly at her mother.

Fleur seemed to understand. "Ere. She is probably 'ungry anyhow."

The three of them faded back into their own little world.

"Don't worry, she didn't like any of us the first time either." Dad announced from the doorway. He and Fred walked in and sat down across from me. "It takes a while, but she gets used to you. She learns to trust you. After time, she'd trust you with her life."

"Except we don't have time." I muttered. Dad looked a bit lost while Fred shook his head.

"We do. We have this time right now, don't we?" Fred asked. "I know it sucks that life has come at us so soon, but we don't have a choice. Better to meet it then to run from it and die in some cold room, completely alone."

I nodded, not really listening. Outside the window, I could see countless stars shimmering in a moonless sky.

"Have you found it yet?"

I looked back at my brother. "Found what?"

He sighed, but I could tell it wasn't out of exasperation; rather out of a fatigue of life. "Your reason for going tomorrow, like Harry asked."

"I'm going because I don't have a choice!" I yelled, feeling trapped. "What am I supposed to do, sit here and wait for Voldemort to come to our front door and kill me? I may as well go tomorrow and die, that way at least I can prove to myself that I'm brave, even though even that doesn't mean anything anymore!"

Fred stared at me looking completely disappointed. "You've already lost. You may as well go tomorrow, you're as good as dead."

"Stop!" Dad yelled, looking back at Mum.

The funny thing was that Mum didn't look stricken anymore. She looked almost determined. Walking towards us, she stopped to take out a small photo album and opened it on the table in front of me. "Do you know who these people are?" she asked, her voice even for the way that her hand shook. Dad had gone white.

I looked down. They were two boys, twins, who were laughing at something. "No."

"Those are my brothers." She said simply. I stared at her; she had never mentioned that we had any uncles.

"Gideon and Fabian Prewett. They were three years older than me, members of the Order of the Phoenix." She paused. "Like your brothers, they loved pranks and jokes—real and true people. Brave like no one else I could imagine, the true epitome of Gryffindor. That was the problem. Dumbledore asked them to go on a mission a few years before you were born, Ron. They did, and the Dark Lord found out about it. They were..." she stopped, catching her breath. "To this day, their murders are two of the most publicized and gruesome."

"How is this supposed to help me?" I asked, feeling like I should be feeling a lot more. Mum looked directly at me.

"They both were tortured and left to die. By the time Dumbledore got there, Gideon was dead, but Fabian was still alive. Able to tell him one last thing with his dying breath_—'I'd do it again'_. Through all the pain and all the emotional hell he had been through, he said he would do it again; serve the Order again. That's why I was always hesitant about letting the lot of you join and serve. I didn't want to go through it again. I wasn't Gryffindor enough."

I looked back down to the two laughing men. They acted like nothing was wrong, like life was perfect—and for them, trapped in that moment, it was.

That moment could have been the best of their lives. What if it was? They had died for times like these; times that made life seem perfect.

I flipped to the last page in the book and had to laugh at the final photograph.

It was from the wedding, ten months before.

It was everyone. My family and the Order and Ministry members and Hermione and Harry...

That had been the best day of my life. No one had stopped laughing the entire time, stopped joking, stopped talking...

It was the last picture that would ever be taken of my sister. Or my three brothers. Or the majority of the Order. Or Harry smiling.

Most likely, the last intentional photograph of the three of us.

If I could go back to one day in my life, that would be it.

Slowly, I took the cover off and picked the photo up. Everyone was smiling, remembering the perfect day. I held it tight in my hand.

It all rested on tomorrow. Everything rested on tomorrow. Either way this photograph could never be replicated, but if there was any chance that the rest of us ever could take another, smiling just like that...

Life wasn't about the Cannons winning or schoolwork getting done. It wasn't about the things being said or done, or what state the world was in.

It was about the one or two days you'd never forget in your lifetime.

If there was even a chance that we could have them again...

I stood up, looking to my family. Fred smiled blankly. "You found it, I guess."

"Yeah."

Mum nodded slowly, standing up and holding me tight. "I love you."

Dad smiled a moment before breaking and joining in on the hug.

As they pulled away, I turned to the new family. "You guys be good, okay? Don't teach that one any bad habits."

They both nodded. Fleur tightened Ginny to her chest.

I faced Fred. "Take care of everyone."

He put a hand on my shoulder, tightening it just enough so that I could feel that he was right there.

"Give them hell for us."

With the memory of Fred's proudest moment flying through my head, I nodded back and walked to the fireplace. Taking the last of the powder, I called out the place I knew Harry would be and held my hand out.

I let the photograph fall to the floor as I was swept away. All the while I was remembering the three of us only ten months prior, sitting at the edge of a table, laughing at something that with time had become nothing.

_The best moment of my life.

* * *

End Part 2/4_

Notes: I know I said this would be a one-shot, but due to the demand and the intrest I took in this story on my hiatus from Parallel Dreams, I've decided to extend it to each of the trio and then the final battle scene.


	3. Harry

Two Photographs

Chapter 3- Harry

_

* * *

_

_All six of the horcruxes were gone, destroyed by the three of us over the course of the year. From August 'til June, living in the shadows and having no contact with the world... just with one another, and now it was almost over, just one target left in Voldemort himself..._

"_So when do we do it?" Ron asked softly, taking a bite from his biscuit. The firelight illuminated his hand, lined with scars and wrinkles from countless death scares. _

_I shook my head, hidden beneath a long hood. I'd had done many things in the last year; many things that would have sentenced me to Azkaban had it been anything but wartime—only now would the Ministry talk of giving me awards for acts that we all called heinous and terrible under our breaths as we completed them. I couldn't bear to have people look upon me and see these things and think great of me, so I hide from the world._

"_Two days. That's when Snape said Voldemort was going to be launching his attack on Hogwarts; we can't risk anything before that, he's going to have thousands of Death Eaters gathering around him to prepare."_

"_So we have two days to prepare?" Hermione stood up and took our bottle of water. "What do we need to do? Plan our attack, or maybe work some more on battle tactics..."_

_I shook my head slightly. "We're not going to get any better in two days. What the two of you need is to think of what you're fighting for—to remember and reflect, and prepare mentally."_

_Ron stared at me with his mouth open. Hermione shot him a 'shut-your-mouth-now' look and poured a glass of water. "So we're going to stay here and share memories?"_

_I shook my head again. "I want you to go home tomorrow morning and spend a day with your families."_

_Ron's stared in shock. They hadn't seen their families since July, and every time one of them would bring them up, I would lecture them on how dangerous it would be for them to go back. _

_I knew what he was thinking. "Voldemort isn't going to care with the attack against Hogwarts only a day away; he can't risk alerting the Order by going to your homes and placing an attack there. Besides, I doubt he'll take notice with the plans that he's going over. It's perfectly safe."_

"_Where are you gonna go?" Ron stood up and moved next to Hermione, taking the cup from her hands. "You wanna come with me to the Burrow?"_

_I shook his head one last time. "I can't risk it. Besides... I want to go back to the graveyard and to Godric's Hollow. Maybe some of my old luck with come back."_

"_You sure?" Hermione muttered. _

"_Yeah. The thing is..." I stopped for a moment, staring deep into the fire. "If you go home and realize that there is something else out there worth not dying for, I want you to stay and not have to leave me directly. If you find something at home that makes life worth it, then stay. I'll understand; I'd do the same if I had a family to live for."

* * *

_

The embers were the only part of the fire left when I was able to snap out of my reverie. I couldn't help but be a little surprised over the fact that I had allowed myself to drift in half-sleep that long—the sky was a dark blue, and the first stars were starting to show beside the crescent moon.

_Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight; wish I may, wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight..._

Even in my mind the words sounded stupid, like something out of a lifetime long ago. Who believed in wishes but children, naïve youths who all believed their parents could solve anything and that everyone found their soul mates? Perhaps those that died in their youth were the lucky ones; the ones who never had to hit that wall when they realized that eventually their parents would die, their true love would betray them, and the dreams they had as children were simply not going to come true.

"_If you could have one wish, what would it be?"_

If I closed my eyes and wished hard enough, I could almost see Ginny in front of me.

"_That this would all be over."_

There had been an awkward pause then, I remembered. She had leaned down and fumbled with a fold in her dress to avoid the fact that we were together, alone, and no longer together.

"_How about you?"_

She had stared at me then, I think. Watched me intently, as though she was trying to see through my question. How much I remember is probably a mix of both reality and dreams; but what I see at this moment, looking back, is how I will always remember her. At that moment in my mind, she wasn't wearing dress robes and her hair wasn't twisted hundreds of times over. She was just Ginny, with a spot of dirt on her face, red from the heat and embarrassment.

"_I wish that this war was over, so I could be with you again."_

As it always was when I tried to dream of this, she was suddenly in her quidditch uniform. That determined look was on her face, as though she knew what I wanted and was prepared to go to any lengths to do it. Like that day last year, last spring, now over a year ago.

I didn't even try and stop it when, as always happened in my dreams, Voldemort came from behind and cut her neck. I didn't react when he killed her in front of me, or when he laughed softly and told me that her blood was on my hands.

Since finding that newspaper in the gutter three months ago, I'd wondered if this was what happened. If he had killed her just like that, or if it was only just a dream my mind created. The paper had only held her name, a date, and a small picture; she wasn't anyone of importance. She was one of one hundred and seventeen that day, and those were only the names that had been recovered. The true death poll that day had probably been closer to four or five hundred.

I'm never sure if I'm awake or asleep anymore. Nightmares have become reality in my waking hours, and the reality we've always known has become a part of dreams. Events that have happened, battles that have been fought, lives that have been lost—I can't tell, even now, if they actually occurred or if they were only in my sleeping hours. The lines have been so blurred over the past year that I don't know anything for sure minus that the three of us were alive, somehow, and Ginny was dead. And that the world was nothing more than a holocaust.

Everything's backwards now. I've not been sure I was asleep for any time in the last year—any dream or nightmare I had could have been reality. Maybe I didn't sleep at all. However, in what I know are our waking hours, I see a world that has died. Everyone lives on the streets, or what used to be the streets before Voldemort destroyed them. Muggles and Wizards alike hide together, melting into a mob of homeless, friendless people who had nothing and no one. Families were torn apart. Bodies thrown everywhere, diseases infecting both societies, magic a lost art due to the fear of being found.

Ten months. Ten months was all it took to go from a world where the three of us could go to the streets without much fear, ten months since muggles learned of wizards, ten months since Hogwarts and the International Quidditch League and the Ministry of Magic shut down, although Hogwarts remained as the final stronghold for renegade wizards and muggles. Ten months since we last saw the Order, at Bill's wedding. Ten months since Ron and Hermione last saw their families.

"_I wish that this war was over, so I could be with you again."_

Ten months since I had walked away, leaving the girl I loved in a golden dress behind me.

A month and a half since I last saw her in a faded old photograph in a forgotten newspaper.

I hadn't seen her anytime in between. Hadn't trusted myself to visit her or see her or think of her. All along I'd told myself that when the war was over, we could be together. All along I'd known that one of us wouldn't make it out alive, but I couldn't do it to her. Couldn't do it to myself.

Often when lying on the cold ground, I'd wondered about her. We hadn't even been together in the end; we'd separated with little hope of ever seeing one another again. What if she had moved on and started seeing someone else? What if she had forgotten about me, or thought me dead? What if all the images I had of her were fabrications that my mind created because I wanted them so badly? We'd been dating a few months, but we'd never as much as said the word 'love'. It was the war, and the prospect that one or both of us may not make it out, that created this need to have her in my mind. Did she feel the same? Did she even know why when they had killed her? Had they gone after her because she was an Order member's daughter or because someone had told him that we had seen each other for a short time?

Truthfully, did it even matter? She was gone, dead, and would never come back. What did it matter what either of us had thought?

I made promises in the beginning. Promised myself that, in the end, everything would be storybook. We'd kill Voldemort, all making it out alive, and all embrace one another. We'd see everyone there then, all the Order members and families and people we loved, and everything would be great again. Ron and Hermione would get married, and then Ginny and I would. We'd all live in a huge house, have lots of kids, and send them to Hogwarts and watch them live their lives.

Somewhere between finding the paper with Ginny's picture in March and the Ministry giving up completely in April, reality hit. I gave up dreaming and focused on life—we were nothing more than ants to Voldemort, and we were just wasting time until it was our turn. We are as good as dead, no matter what prophecy or knowledge we have on our side. He has everything. We have nothing.

I'm not afraid anymore. I know what's coming. I'm ready now.

Sometimes, when I think I'm asleep, my nights are filled with memories. Nightmares, though with the state of the world, I don't know if you can call them nightmares. Some of them are now simply dreams, because who in their right minds would call a vision they prefer over reality to be a nightmare?

Other times, I see different outcomes. I see Dumbledore talking with McGonagall about the future, and her blushing a deep red as he takes her hand. I see Cedric laughing and pulling Cho over to meet his parents. I see Fred and George sitting at a long table, discussing plans and pranks with Sirius and my dad. I see my mum, looking over her shoulder from talking with Snape, smiling at me.

Yet most often of these dreams, I see Ginny, alive and waiting for me. She's always wearing those quidditch robes that she wore the first night we kissed, always looking at me like she did the last time I saw her; as though she saw everything in me, knew me and accepted what she saw.

"_I wish that this war was over, so I could be with you again."_

The last of the embers faded, the fire dying off completely.

I stood slowly, testing my limbs before moving them. Since the Ministry gave up, since the Order was disbanded, since finding that paper in the gutter on the side of a dead road in a dead world; I'd pushed myself. What did pain mean in a world like this? What good was I unless I was something that could stand up to Voldemort? His defeat was all that drove me. I woke up each morning to run, as fast as I could, in any direction I could. I'd be gone the majority of the day, pushing my body to its limits.

Running gave me the escape that I needed. It kept me sane, because after the initial pain, euphoria took over and drove me. For those few precious hours every day, I could feel nothing at all. When I couldn't think or remember where I was and who I am, those are the best times.

As we always did leaving our campsite of the day, I scattered the ashes from the fire and gathered the two tattered sheets that had become both our bed and shelter. The few other things we had kept with us we had burned the night before almost ceremoniously. I thought it would have been harder to let go of everything we'd lived off of during the past ten months, but it wasn't at all. The hardest part was making sure that the flames didn't get too high so that we wouldn't be noticed by anyone who could be nearby.

Knowing full well that no Death Eaters would be caring about a renegade spell of magic less than a day before the final siege, I banished the blankets and took one last look around before apparating away.

I let out the breath I'd been holding when I felt my feet land on the ground. Although I had memories from the dementors, I hadn't been to Godric's Hollow since Halloween all those years ago. I didn't know what anything around it looked like or even what was there—but apparently, that didn't matter.

There wasn't much on the plot of land where my old house had been. The foundation and ruins had been removed, leaving only a small garden on the edge of the lawn.

I stopped short as I heard someone breathing behind me.

His voice was a low grumble, almost as though it were a part of the wind. "What are you fighting for?"

I turned slowly, hand on my wand. An older man stepped out of the shadows and stopped, staring at me. He leaned heavily on his cane and laughed softly. "I doubt I'll be doing much fighting with this leg the way it is. Besides, I'm a muggle. Not a drop of wizarding blood in me; only found out about you people a few months back when they got to my wife and kid. Been fighting them as best I could ever since, though that's not saying much with my age and condition. Now, answer me, because I know that look you've got; I had it once myself."

He could easily have been a Death Eater, or a spy, or an enemy. Most people were in these times—it was far easier to sell out someone you had just met then watch your family die when the threats started flooding in.

Yet the look in his eyes made me hesitate.

"I'm fighting for freedom," I muttered. He shook his head.

"No, you're not. Don't lie to me, boy, and even more than that don't lie to yourself. You don't give a whip if you are free or dead, and the way you looked down when you gave me that excuse. Now, why are you fighting? What are you really fighting for?"

I had no idea how to respond, but the old man seemed to understand. "Okay, let's start at the beginning then. What got you started here? Parents, a girl, friends?" He paused. "Or is there some sort of wizarding way of choosing people to fight? I don't admit to being knowledgeable on the subject of magic."

_Mum and Dad; Ginny, Ron and Hermione and the prophecy. _As scary as it seemed, he had marked me down perfectly.

"What does it matter to you?" I took my hand off my wand. "What does it matter if I'm fighting for something or not?"

He smiled wistfully. "Because I know a lot about war, boy. Been through one myself, a long time ago; I've seen my fair share of friends leave this world because they didn't know why they were there. Now, looking at you, I can see my friends. But even more than that I see the future. You've got the weight of the world on your shoulders but a dead look in your eyes. Those two things just don't mix. And as much as I want to be with my family again someday, I'm not ready to die. So I'm figuring that I can help you find what it is that you're fighting for so that we have a chance. So that they didn't all die in vain."

The older man shrugged and hobbled over to the garden. "These your parents?"

I felt my body stiffen. "My parents are dead."

"Then I'm glad I'm not talking about people. Come here, boy. I'm talking about these."

Two gravestones came into view after a few steps. My breath caught in my throat. "I didn't know that there were graves at all..."

"Nice people, Lily and James," he interrupted smoothly. "Met them once and once only, right before they left for wherever it was they went to. I'm assuming with the ruins here that they put some sort of spell on the house to hide it? Now, I'm guessing it's safe to assume that you're their little boy Harry. Met you that day too, but you've changed a bit since then. Grown up in more ways then one. Pity you wear that hood over your face, or I'd tell you an old man's stories about how much you look like one or both of them."

I stared at the graves, unsure how to react. He laughed. "So it's not your parents you're fighting for then. I was sure it was them, since you came back here. Ah well."

"I came back because I hadn't been here since they died." He nodded absentmindedly. "I want them to be proud of me."

"Oh, they were. No parents aren't proud of their child, no matter what becomes of them."

All I could think of was Voldemort and his parents.

"A girl, then. You have the love of your life waiting for you?"

The familiar hollow feeling flooded through my stomach as I saw her standing there next to the graves, smiling at me. "Only way I'll get to see her is if I die."

He sighed. "I'd say friends next, but I'm assuming I'll get a similar answer. Next I'm expecting that you'll tell me you didn't have a choice."

The prophecy rung inside my head, echoing almost mockingly. "In all realty, I don't, but that's as much my choice as it is circumstance."

"I think we're getting to something," the old man muttered. "Why are you forcing yourself to do this?"

"Voldemort killed my parents," I said without emotion. "And he's responsible for the deaths of my godfather, my girlfriend, Dumbledore... ten million others..."

"Over twenty now, actually, though I seriously doubt that helps matters."

I closed my eyes and sat down hard, trying to wash out the words he'd just said. "No, it doesn't."

"You're not fighting for what's right, then," he said. I heard him stand up and start walking off. "Where are you going?"

He chuckled. "Going to enjoy my last night on Earth, boy. Have a drink with some friends and celebrate the fact that we made it this far."

"You aren't afraid?"

The old man looked back at me, his brown eyes curious. "You are?"

I started to answer no, because that was what I had always said. What I knew to be true. Somehow though, somewhere deep inside, something stopped me from shaking my head.

Why couldn't I say no? A feeling of something that I hadn't felt in months crept up on me.

Fear.

He laughed. "Good luck, Harry Potter. We'll meet again, I'm sure. Where, that becomes the question."

He was gone as quickly as he had appeared, back into the heavy fog that had taken over the same time as Voldemort and his dementors had. I stood and followed his path to the edge of the clearing; the fear taking over me completely.

_What if I die tomorrow? What if he kills me? What comes after for me, for everyone still alive on Earth?_

I hadn't felt fear, or any emotion but a hollow sadness, since Ginny's picture had come and gone. Now it was taking over, paralyzing me.

_No one knows about the horcruxes save us, and if we die, then he's won completely!_

As I had next to their graves, I felt myself collapse to the ground. Salty tears rained down my face, completely unfamiliar to me because I hadn't cried in a year.

_What if there is no heaven? What if there is? What if he decides to leave people alive as slaves? What if he kills everyone?_

All I wanted was to go back, back to the end of my sixth year and hold Ginny close to me, forgetting about the world once again.

"Harry?"

Time stopped.

I didn't need to look up to know it was her behind me.

But I did anyway.

"You're wearing your quidditch robes."

She laughed. "Get up. What would people say if they saw you like this? Get up, Harry. Stand up."

I was barely breathing when she stepped back. "You can't exist, you know that, right? You're dead, and you're not a ghost."

Her expression didn't change at all.

"You are in my imagination," I whispered. She shrugged. "You're what I want to see, so I see you."

Ginny shrugged again and started walking towards me. "Isn't that all life is, anyhow? What you want to see, what you make of it, all that? So what if I'm real? For all you know, our 'love' wasn't, yet you made it real simply by wishing it so. Reality is what you perceive it to be. That's why the optimists of this world enjoy it so much and the pessimists can live the same life hating every moment of it." She stopped right in front of me.

"Reality is perceptive," she whispered, looking down to her hands.

How I wished...

I reached out and hovered my hand above hers. Her eyes slowly traced back up to mine. "I thought you didn't believe in me, Harry."

Words raced through my mind. How I wanted to tell her that she was always on my mind, that I didn't believe her dead, that everything I was saying was a product of complete exhaustion and terror of the upcoming battle...

"I don't."

I closed my eyes and lowered my hand, closing my mind to every thought but her.

Somehow, on some level, I felt her hand underneath mine.

She was warm, smooth... alive.

Maybe she wasn't really here, I realized—maybe she wasn't holding my hand, wasn't breathing before me. Maybe she had never loved me. But my reality, my life, knew one thing for certain.

"I love you," I whispered.

That much isn't perception, no matter how much the circumstances are; so as badly as I wanted to hear her say it back, she didn't. Because she was dead, and although we were here holding hands... that was my reality.

"Why do you hide your face?" She asked softly, tightening her grip. "I want to see you, Harry. Show me who you are."

I hesitated, not wanting to let her go, not wanting to raise the hood I'd been wearing for months; not ready to take down the wall that separated me from all I'd done.

"Talking to yourself again, mate?"

Ginny's hand slipped away as though it were part of the breeze. I closed my fist for a moment before opening my eyes.

"I thought I told you to go home."

Ron shrugged. "I went back to the Burrow. Talked with my family. You know I'm an uncle now? Fleur and Bill had a kid. Squirt of a thing. Anyhow, Fred and Mum said some things that made me realize that it didn't matter if I was there. You told me to go home and, well, here I am."

I stared at him. He hadn't rambled on like that since the first days out. "How is a burned out flat of land that used to belong to my family your home, exactly?"

"Because it's where our hearts are."

Hermione walked out of the fog and took Ron's hand in hers. "Isn't that how the old saying went? 'Home is where the heart is'? Well, you're stuck with me, because where the two of you are is my home."

Ron grinned. "Come on, Harry, you know you're going to miss sleeping on a patch of rocky dirt while Hermione cuddles up to you late at night."

"And Ron's incessant snoring," Hermione bit in, smiling at him.

"And Hermione getting up at the crack of dawn to 'think'."

"And Ron running around like a moron when rain starts to fall."

"And Hermione..."

"I get the picture." Both of them stopped short and stared back at me. "I'm going to miss the both of you for being yourselves. Well, we're going to have to rectify that. How about... when we win, we move into Grimmauld Place. It won't be like a tent, but we'll still be all in it together."

Neither of them moved. They both just watched me, gaping, as though I had sprouted two heads. "Is there a problem?"

"You just... you haven't mentioned anything about what happens after the end before. You've never wanted to think about it."

_Because I know that we aren't going to survive, _I thought to myself. _Subjective reality. If they want to believe that we make it out alive, then we will. _

If you wanted something bad enough, it would be real.

Behind them, I could see Ginny, giving me that determined look again.

"-was convinced I didn't have what it takes to fight. He made me look around until I found it. Thought he was dead crazy at first, but when I saw that photograph-"

_Ginny, smiling softly in a faded old photograph; the last ever taken of her. _

"A photograph changed my mind too. Well, two photographs, actually. The difference between our first year and that one the boy took a couple of months back. I realized that I'm fighting for the past; for the two of you, for all our friends. I feel like if I had stayed, I would have been betraying you, and when he came for me in months to come..."

Ron put an arm around her shoulder and held her to his chest as she took a few deep breaths. Miraculously, she didn't shed a tear.

"I'm fighting for the day of the wedding," Ron said, releasing his hold on her. "I'm fighting for that day."

Hermione's face went pale as Ron looked more and more confused.

She finally managed to squeak out a reply. "Is that your idea of a proposal, Ronald?"

He turned a shade of red that I didn't know him capable of. His mouth opened as he gaped-

-but then he shut it and smiled embarrassedly, as if he realized something. "Actually, I didn't mean that wedding, I meant the one last summer. But... I know it isn't the most romantic, I was gonna do it later, but since you've got my number..." he took her hand in his. "When this is over, will you marry me?"

I walked away, leaving them to their peace. From behind me I could hear Hermione and Ron speaking softly, no doubt making plans for the future.

Ginny was standing next to my parent's graves. "He finally did it, then? Good. Merlin knows they deserve happiness." Her gaze shifted towards me. "As do you."

Our eyes locked for a moment.

"Harry!"

Ron and Hermione stood behind me, waiting for my cue to leave—to head to Hogwarts, where we would make our last stand. They had found what they were fighting for because they had a future.

Ginny was in front of me, smiling ever the same. She was all I wanted, all I had ever dreamed of having in my life. She was what had haunted my mind for the past year...

But that was just it. I will never know if she felt the same. Everything I felt was the war, and the pressure, and the dreams.

I was relying on a fabrication this past year.

_I was relying on myself. _

My mind had been protecting me, telling me what I needed to go on. Making up a reality that, as painful as it was, kept me alive and determined.

Now it was my turn, in my conscious, to take over and do what needed to be done.

"I love you," I said calmly to Ginny as she faded away. She raised a hand up, almost completely transparent, and touched my hood.

I helped her push it back all the way before turning my back on her and facing my friends.

I had expected them to be shocked, but they weren't. They simply smiled back at me, happy simply for this moment that we had together.

"You know, I'm glad you did that on your own," Ron said, motioning as though taking off a hood himself. "I wasn't sure how people would react seeing a hooded specter walking down the aisle as my best man. We were debating having to give Snape your job."

A feeling of warmth swept through me as Ron began to chuckle. It got louder until, eventually, he fell to the ground in hysterical peals of laughter.

Hermione had looked shocked at first, and afraid of my reaction. But as Ron fell to his knees, she couldn't help but giggle herself.

I didn't know why or how. All I know is that I hadn't laughed since a time so long ago, and somehow, I was next to my two best friends, laughing.

Their arms grabbed me and pulled me down with them.

We were three kids, laughing together about absolutely nothing.

Somehow, that made me laugh harder.

"So what now?" Hermione managed to ask. "It's almost sunrise, so we have all day and all night to prepare."

_One last golden day, _I'd called Bill and Fleur's wedding. Who was to say that today couldn't be another?

"First off, we sleep for a few hours. Then, when we're awake and terrified out of our wits, we go to Hogwarts. We sit with everyone else and talk. We're not alone in this anymore."

We all lay back, staring up at the stars

_We're not alone in this. _

Faces swam through my mind, both alive and dead.

_No matter what happens, we aren't alone._

_That's all that matters.

* * *

_

End Part 3/3

Notes: I know that Ive talked about plans to write a part four of this, but in all honesty, it isn't going to happen. I originally meant this as a one-shot about Hermione's take on the entire war as a birthday gift for my fabulous Final Fantasy beta reader, IsleofSolitude; and from there I decided to take on the other characters. This was never meant to encompass more than that night, and I've decided to leave it off here for that exact point. The final battle goes as it goes; logically, there is no way that they could survive, but there is always a hope in the dark. So take on your own subjective reality and decide for yourselves.

Chapters 1 & 2 beta'd by Hyperblonde016, who would have done this chapter as well had I not delayed it for months and months and felt bad enough to simply release it.


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